Cuff Me Captain
by Voltorph
Summary: Kinky one-shot involving a camera phone, a shower and a pair of handcuffs. Shout out to leiaprincess21 for helping me edit! Rated M for basically just smut the whole way through.


"I'm not mad." John rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest, feigning petulance.

"Your choice of "date clothes" suggests you are," Sherlock muttered stormily, imbuing the phrase with all the ire he felt it deserved.

"I just-you can't catch me off guard like that in front of everybody!" He snapped, throwing an irritated glance in the direction of his flat mate, "Particularly not in front of Lestrade, or god forbid, Anderson."

Sherlock had his instinctive reaction at the name "Anderson", wrinkling his nose as though a bad odor has suddenly been unleashed, "I'm merely stating that your outfit offends my eyes," he gives a sniff, notices John's cologne, "And your after shave, my nose. It's an outfit offensive to all the senses, practically."

"You're just frustrated that I didn't respond to your advances _at the crime scene_." John shrugged out of the wrinkled plum cardigan he was wearing, throwing it into the corner. He began to unbutton his checkered polo as well, hurling it in the same direction as his rejected jumper.

"You might simply go shirtless," Sherlock mused, eyeing John quite blatantly, "I wouldn't be averse to that. And the crime scene was a four, very cunningly made to sound like a nine in that text from Lestrade, I had to make my own entertainment!"

"Let's not go out tonight." John shucked off his jeans as well, tossing them on the bed. "I'm going to go take a shower." He headed for the bathroom, avoiding Sherlock's calculating gaze. Waiting until the water was hot, John stepped into the narrow stall, hissing lightly as the scalding water hit his tanned skin.

"But-" Sherlock was put out by John's change of heart. He'd made the effort to comb his hair, for crying out loud. His latest experiment required nothing more than an occasional stir. At a loose end, the detective found himself sidling into the bathroom, trailing John.

John heard the door open, but he made no attempt to shoo the intrusive detective. "Get in." He grinned to himself; _Yes, this would be much more enjoyable than going to Angelo's and eating dinner while Sherlock observed._

"I've already showered," Sherlock noted, deadpan, as he hastily removed his shirt, socks, trousers and underpants. He stepped under the spray of the shower nozzle regardless, shaking his curls out of his eyes as the water caused them to sag down.

"I'm sorry." John had his back to Sherlock, as he felt a bit guilty about disregarding the detective's obvious effort to look nice. "I just-warn me next time you try to make out with me in public. I'm still-trying to acclimate to the whole thing."

"Sorry," Sherlock muttered, glancing up from beneath his sopping hair. He reached out to stroke a thoughtful hand over the scar tissue on John's shoulder, "Dating. Affection. All new."

"For us both." John finished the thought, turning towards him. He leaned up to press his lips against Sherlock's, simultaneously wrapping his short arms around Sherlock's slender waist.

"Very new for some of us," Sherlock felt a blush threaten to rise in his face but blamed it on the steam from the shower. He tilted his head a little more to improve the angle of the kiss for John, chasing each of John's kisses with an answering one of his own. His other hand strayed to John's hip, clutching it possessively in his long fingers.

"I'll tell you what." John trailed kisses along Sherlock's prominent collarbone, "In penance for calling off our date," He shifted even closer, one hand straying down and hovering teasingly above Sherlock's abdomen, "I'll let you be on top, if you like."

Sherlock's lips twitched with a little smirk, gaze flicking downwards to chart the progress of John's hand as it moved further south.  
"Oh you'll let me, will you?" he murmured, voice a rumble. He leaned forward, sucking at the water-softened skin of John's neck, muttering, "Perhaps I don't want to."

John arched his back, tilting his head back to allow Sherlock to nip at the nape of his neck, "I bet I could make you do whatever I wanted." His fingers closed around Sherlock's length, eliciting a soft gasp from the detective.

Sherlock's eyes fell shut, his breath trembling as he rocked forward into the touch. He gripped at John harder with his hands in a bid to stay upright.  
"Oh?" he panted, his usually commanding voice now softer and husky, "Do... do you really think so?"

"I know so." Now it was John's turn to bite softly at the skin just under Sherlock's ear, "All I have to do is put on my uniform and you're butter in my hands."

The detective came back to his senses enough to practically purr his approval at that, grinning against John's neck, his fingers dragging down John's hips, his thighs, inching closing to his abdomen. Sherlock could feel John's erection digging into his own thigh.  
"Is that correct, Captain?"

"Mmm," John murmured, enveloping Sherlock in another kiss, droplets of water splashing down on his forehead from the detective's damp curls. Reaching around, John shut the water off and ripped the curtain away, nudging Sherlock out of the stall.

"Aren't you going to give me an order, Captain?" Sherlock asked, a little breathless from the kiss. He quirked a damp eyebrow at John, "What do you have planned for me?"

"I want you to do two things." John assumed a commanding tone, "First, I want you to get your camera phone." He draped a towel across Sherlock's pale shoulders, "And second, I want you to get a pair of handcuffs from downstairs." With the last order, John kissed his detective, biting down gently on his full lower lip as he pulled away.

Sherlock did his best not to make a noise that could later be used against him as blackmail material. Instead, with a hint of a smirk he nodded, murmuring, "Captain" before hurrying (as fast as his rather agonizing erection would allow) downstairs. He found his phone after rummaging in a few dressing gowns and fished a pair of cuffs from his "Lestrade" drawer before practically charging back upstairs.

John slipped into his uniform, grinning to himself. He could hear Sherlock rummaging around downstairs, eager to continue. The ex-soldier slipped his dog-tags around his neck and buttoned the uniform, glancing in the full-length mirror. His hair was still wet from the shower, tousled and much more blonde than he remembered.

As Sherlock rounded the corner into the bedroom he felt his erection give an approving throb, it being all he could do to keep from reaching out to stroke at his own length at the sight that lay before him.

"I... ah," he swallowed on a tongue that now felt two sizes too big, "I have the cuffs, and the phone. Sir."

John smirked at the bewildered expression plastered on Sherlock's face. "Bring me the phone." He ordered, assuming a military stance.

The detective gave a little, practically meek, nod, edging forwards to hand the item to John. He realized that, in fact, the trepidation stemmed from his lack of self-control: if he allowed himself any closer to John, he'd be liable to simply tear the clothes right off him.

The ex-solder beckoned to Sherlock, grinning fiendishly as he accepted the phone. He took off the dog-tags and slipped them around Sherlock's neck, kissing him tenderly. Pulling away, he turned on the mobile and opened the camera application. He held the phone at arms' length, and kissed Sherlock once more, snapping a picture this time. John pulled away and examined the photograph. Sherlock looked over his shoulder nervously.

"What are you going to do with that?"

John ignored him, opening up the email application and attaching the photo to a message addressed to Lestrade, and after a moment, Mycroft as well. He sent the email, grinning widely.

"There."

Sherlock stared at him, bewildered.  
"Now, for the cuffs." John circled around the naked detective, looking but not touching; something Sherlock found very irksome.

"I want you to get onto the bed," The ex-soldier commanded, "And cuff your wrists together."

"Not to the post?" Sherlock queried, arching an eyebrow.

John leaned up against the detective from behind, his stout arms wrapping protectively around Sherlock's middle, "Your wrists, cuff them together." He commanded, his lips brushing Sherlock's shoulder.

"_Yes—Captain." _Sherlock breathed, overwhelmed by the sensation. The only problem, he thought, was John's uniform, which was unfortunately still covering up the ex-soldier's magnificently tanned body. Stumbling towards the mattress, Sherlock fastened the handcuffs around his wrists and lay on his back, peering curiously up at John.

The doctor inspected his willing subject with an air of acute desire. His eyes traveled from Sherlock's pale curved neck, to his unblemished torso, to the sloping lines leading down to the detective's erect length. John wet his lips, fighting the desire to crawl on top of his brilliant flat-mate and fuck him until he couldn't put together a coherent sentence. But no, this had to be done correctly; slow and purposeful. John knew he needed to ease Sherlock into this, as they were both fairly new at the whole intimacy business.

Sherlock watched, transfixed, as John leisurely unzipped the uniform. He groaned with appreciation and eagerness as John stepped out of it. The dog tags around Sherlock's neck clinked together as the detective readjusted his position, sitting up with difficulty on the bed.

"_Please, John." _Sherlock pleaded.

_"Captain." _John's mouth crushed against Sherlock's forcefully as he scrambled onto the bed.

_"Please, Captain."_ Sherlock breathed into John's neck as the doctor nipped at his milky white skin. Obliging, John rotated Sherlock's hips so that the detective was seated on his lap, cuffed wrists over his head, arms resting on John's shoulders.

"Wait-," John leaned back, frantically plunging his hand into the drawer by his bedside, retrieving a small bottle of lubricant. He squeezed a dot of lube onto his palm and prepared himself as Sherlock wriggled above him. John used his already slick fingers to ready Sherlock as well, relaxing the detective until he was able to slip his index finger in. Sherlock huffed with mild discomfort as John added a second finger.

"_Please-John," _ He whimpered desperately, shifting his position slightly to gain leverage, "_I want—," _Sherlock faltered, unable to finish his sentence. Understanding, John removed his fingers and pulled Sherlock into a sitting position, his legs on either side of the doctor's.

"Aah-," Sherlock gasped as he slid himself on John's erection, throwing his head back against the doctor's shoulder. He cursed mentally for allowing himself to be handcuffed, denying him the pleasure of holding onto John as he thrust up into him.

"_God, Sherlock," _John moaned obscenely, fingers curling around Sherlock's narrow hips. The discarded phone bleeped once, twice, signaling two new emails. Sherlock huffed in amusement, picturing the disgruntled look on his brother's face. _No, god no, don't think of Mycroft while John is making love to you, _Sherlock thought, horrified. He turned his head fractionally, lips coming into contact with John's tanned neck.

John panted heavily as he rocked into the detective, adjusting slightly as to give Sherlock a more comfortable angle.

"Oh! _Oh, John—," _Sherlock inhaled sharply as the head of John's cock brushed against his prostate. In a far corner of his mind, Sherlock thanked his hypothetical God's for letting himself fall for a man with extensive medical background. Ripples of unadulterated pleasure pulsed through Sherlock's body, shutting off his internal monologue altogether.

_"Sherlock, hnnggg—I—," _John was close now, so very close. He reached around and seized Sherlock's aching erection, pulling on it with fast, even strokes. Releasing a long, drawn out groan, Sherlock came with a shudder. John followed him moments later, still buried to the hilt in Sherlock's heat.

Turning his head to face his detective, John crushed his lips against Sherlock's once more, grinning lazily into the kiss. Catching his breath, Sherlock eased off of John's lap, turning around and presenting his cuffed hands to his Captain.

"Oh—right." John flushed, planting a gentle kiss on Sherlock's nose, "I don't—have the key." He snorted with laughter, scrambling off the bed as Sherlock's eyes widened with horror.

"You _what?" _Sherlock took off after John as he tried to escape into the hallway, giggling madly.


End file.
